


Sustainability

by zestitude



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Because of Reasons, Bottom Bucky, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Jealousy, M/M, Porn, World War II, see you can always have angst ya just gotta throw some porn in there too!!!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zestitude/pseuds/zestitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Across the hazy, smoke-filled room, separated by a crowd of men in uniform and women in their best dresses, hiding behind the commotion of rowdy soldiers blowing off steam, Bucky was ignoring Steve.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Late February 1944 - Italy.</p><p>Peggy is helpful, Bucky is jealous, and Steve is caught somewhere in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sustainability

**Author's Note:**

> This is one chapter from a much, much longer fic that I'm slowly working my way through, so there may be some gaps in continuity and references to other parts of the story. I don't want to start posting until I'm totally finished because I majorly do not trust myself with a WIP, but I thought I would go ahead and post a chapter. 
> 
> Starts angsty, ends porny. Incidentally, also the name of my autobiography.
> 
> The full fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3371918

Across the hazy, smoke-filled room, separated by a crowd of men in uniform and women in their best dresses, hiding behind the commotion of rowdy soldiers blowing off steam, Bucky was ignoring Steve.

Sensing some disturbance in their ranks, each of the Commandos had made fruitless attempts to pull him out of his sulking, offering drinks and giving rough claps on his back and compelling him to play something on the old piano in the corner. He had shrugged each of them off in turn, leaving them to shoot bewildered looks in Steve’s direction. Dum Dum had made his way across the room to Steve’s side, jerked a thumb back in Bucky’s direction, and simply muttered “there’s something eatin’ that boy.” 

He had been nursing the same glass of whiskey for at least an hour, grasping it with long fingers and rotating it in slow, smooth circles just above the polished wood of the bar, his gaze lost in the amber swirl.

Steve knew exactly what was eating at Bucky. When Steve had first told him about his conversation with Peggy, Bucky had fallen into the kind of deadly silence that could only be the quiet before a storm. His full lips had pressed into a thin line, the muscles in his jaw rippling from the force with which he clenched his teeth. Steve had sat helplessly, waiting for Bucky to process the idea that he would have to watch Steve pretend to be in love with someone else. He watched as Bucky repeatedly ran his hands over his own thighs, staring intensely at an arbitrary point on the carpet. 

Finally, unable to sit through the silence any longer, Steve had spoken. 

“It’s only temporary, you know. Only until we get home.” 

Then the storm came.

Steve couldn’t tell if it was the ridiculous suggestion that things would all be out in the open when they got back to Brooklyn or his half-hearted attempts to minimize the entire situation that set him off, but Bucky was on his feet in an instant, pacing feverishly across the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

It was difficult to remember most of what Bucky had said while Steve sat on the bed and listened as he vented, his head bowed. A few things stood out in Steve’s memory, phrases like “dirty secret”, suggestions like “maybe you should just go fuck Peggy Carter, then, if everyone’s gonna think it anyway”.

None of this was unexpected, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. Steve couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling, being told that the person he was in love with would be, for all intents and purposes, publicly in love with someone else. But Steve was suffering too; it broke his heart to see Bucky like this. He didn’t want to hide the way he felt for Bucky, and he wanted to pretend to feel these things for someone else even less. But Peggy was doing them a favor, was offering the protection they desperately needed to be able to be together. It would be the worst kind of hubris to turn her away. 

And Steve tried, he really tried to hear what Bucky was saying, to sympathize with the hurt and the frustration. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap, and watched as Bucky paced and paced until Steve thought he might wear a hole in the floor. 

Every now and then, Bucky would turn his ire back on Steve, ask him why he wasn’t _saying anything_ and then resolutely cut him off when he tried to respond. So he sat back and gave Bucky the room to be angry; he hummed in agreement when Bucky said something that he agreed with and kept quiet when he felt that Bucky was being unfair. He was allowed to be unfair right now, in this room, when it was just the two of them. If he needed to throw insults at everyone he could think of, if he needed to tell Steve he was being a coward, this was the time. 

It was only when Bucky turned his anger back on himself, started putting voice to his own insecurities and frustrations and the deep seeded idea that he was wrong, that _they_  were wrong, that Steve refused to listen to it anymore. He barked Bucky’s name, rising quickly to his feet, and crossed the room to where Bucky had abruptly stopped at the sound of his name, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. 

“Stop for a minute,” Steve commanded, tentatively running his hands along Bucky’s upper arms, over his shoulders, and finally coming to a rest against the sides of his neck. There was no great release of tension at Steve’s touch, no deep sigh as he let go of his frustration. Instead he simply stared straight ahead, his eyes focused somewhere around Steve’s throat. Steve ran his thumbs along the sensitive stretch of skin below his ears, trying to calm him.

“Be angry at me if you want. You can call me an asshole, tell me I’m not being fair to you, that I’m asking too much of you. But don’t for a second think that any of this is because you’re not good enough, or because there’s something wrong with you,” Bucky huffed a short breath through his nose.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, desperate for some feedback, “Buck. C’mon, look at me.” 

The clench of his jaw tightened with the command, but he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Steve’s. They were rimmed with an angry pink, right on the verge of tears, and their even blue seemed brighter for it. 

“I don’t like feeling like you’re ashamed of me,” Bucky said quietly, pulling his arms tighter across his chest, "I spent a real long time being ashamed of myself.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with being ashamed, Buck. I’m just trying to protect what we have - to protect _you_ ,” he allowed his fingertips to wander into the short, soft hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck, tracing the familiar terrain of his scalp, “This isn’t sustainable, not the way that it is now. If Peggy can figure it out, you can bet other people will too. She’s offering a solution.” 

“A solution that involves everyone thinking you’re in love with her,” Bucky snapped. The insecurity that had been pulling him in on himself was starting to let up, and he seemed to grow along with his defiance. His shoulders opening, spine straightening, chest broadening, “I’m sure that’ll be a real inconvenience for her.” 

Steve met Bucky’s defiance with his own. Being at an impasse with him was nothing new, nothing Steve hadn’t stared in the face a hundred times before. Bucky was stubborn alright, but his pigheadedness had nothing on Steve’s, born out of decades of fighting with his will instead of his fists. 

“So what? You’re telling me that you can’t watch me chat her up a bit in public, can’t deal with me carrying a picture of her in my pocket? Making a show out of it so I can come home to you and not worry about both of us getting killed?” Bucky set his jaw and averted his eyes, pushed his tongue against his cheek like he always did when he had something to say and knew he shouldn’t. “I’m always coming home to you, Buck. I’m yours. What happens out there is for show. And we’re damn lucky to even have that option.”  

A heavy silence settled over the two of them, weighed in Steve’s chest like dread. Finally, Bucky let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head, and Steve knew that his resolve had cracked. And then in an instant, as quickly as he had faltered, he was closed off again, stepping back from Steve. 

“Can you just...” he trailed off before making his way across the bedroom and grabbing his coat from where it lay draped over the short bedpost, “Just give me some space for a little bit.”

He stood awkwardly next to the bed, the same one where they’d been so intimate only a few hours before. He felt a million miles away. At a loss, Steve nodded, stood with his hands on his hips, and watched the door close behind Bucky as he left.

And then he was adrift. He was walking down a narrow street, returning excited waves from strangers. He was outside the only tavern in the tiny Italian town, where warm light and cheery chatter spilled onto the cobbled sidewalks. He was at the bar, pretending to listen to some GI’s story about a girl. He was drinking a tasteless drink while his disappointed lover sat across the room, soaking himself in liquor and self-loathing. 

Steve Rogers was not a perfect man. He had made many mistakes in his life, acted selfishly, been reckless, been stubborn.

Bucky was not a mistake. Bucky was the one thing he'd done for himself in his entire life - a life spent leaping into alley fights to defend people more capable than himself, a life spent cooking dinner for the old woman next door, always, always, _relentlessly_ doing what was right. And then there was Bucky, the man who had protected him, laughed with him, fought with him, loved him, even when he was nothing more than the asthmatic boy sketching buildings in a worn-out notebook. 

Steve Rogers had done his share of what was right, and now he wanted to be with Bucky more than he wanted to be honest, or restrained, or socially acceptable. He was ready to fight this fight, all spitfire and righteous certainty like always, but Steve was always ready to jump into fights he couldn't win. One look at Bucky's hunched form and he knew he wasn't ready to fight it with him. The army wasn't ready to fight it with him. Peggy was willing to cover for him, but she wasn't fighting with him either. And if Steve knew one thing for sure, it's that a man doesn't stand a chance when he's fighting alone. 

He would climb on this bar now, tell every wandering soul in the place how he felt about the miserable man at the other end of the bar, but it wouldn't change anything. All of Bucky's anger and hurt and frustration at being a secret, at being the less acceptable option (the unacceptable option), was for nothing. Steve wasn't choosing between Bucky and Peggy. He wasn't choosing to hide Bucky. He was choosing to stay with Bucky. There was no other road for him to take, no other option that would allow him to be with Bucky publicly. Not now. Not here. 

So Steve nursed his drink, tasting nothing, and let his eyes wander to Bucky now and then, giving him space. That's what he had asked for, and Steve wasn't one to refuse anything that Bucky asked of him. He shouldn't even be here, not really, should have stayed in their hotel room and let Bucky wander wherever he needed to go, waited for him to come home. 

Hours passed, conversations started and ended, glasses emptied. Men and women aimed for inconspicuous as they left within minutes of each other. Monty had one too many drinks and spilled his bourbon on a young, pretty Italian woman's yellow dress. Locals sang with soldiers. The tavern seemed to pulse with life, new friends, new love, and Bucky ignored Steve. 

It was late when Peggy Carter came through the door in a jingle of bells and a cloud of evening chill, bringing the customary hush that occurred whenever she entered a room. In a light blue dress and a black swing cape, her brown curls pinned back from her face and her lips painted a deep red, she was devastating. Steve looked up from his empty glass when she entered the room, abandoning the pretense of listening to Jim and walking to where she stood without an excuse. Jim called something after him about brotherhood and laughed, his feelings not particularly hurt. 

Peggy smiled hesitantly as Steve helped her out of her cape, her sharp eyes trained on Bucky's huddled form on the far end of the room. She kissed him gracefully on the cheek and inclined her head in his direction. 

"Did you talk to him?" she asked, though her expression told him she knew already. He nodded, leading her to the bar.

"It went about as well as you could expect," he muttered as he flagged down the young woman tending the bar, "What can I get you?" 

"Whiskey neat," Peggy replied easily, situating herself on a stool, her eyes darting down the polished bar to where Bucky sat, eyes trained into his glass, "Is he okay?" 

Unable to answer the question, Steve opted for silence as he watched the girl pour a few fingers of whiskey into a glass and pass it across the bar. Peggy caught his gaze as he passed her the drink, her expression pleading. She had some way about her that made you want to tell her everything, made you trust her with your life. Bucky told him once that he had that same quality, that he always made him feel exposed and disarmed. Now he knew what he meant. 

"He's hurt. Jealous," he stole a glance down the bar and watched as Bucky pushed his loose bangs back from his forehead, "Frustrated. Thinks I'm ashamed of him." 

Peggy nodded to herself and it was amazing, how easily you could see the wheels turning in her mind. They may share some qualities, but in that she and Steve couldn't be more different. She wasn't impulsive or loose-lipped. There were times when it made Steve nervous, he was so used to speaking his mind. He ordered another drink and looked around the bar, aware that the other men were watching him and Peggy together. She was aware as well, and leaned in close when there was no need. 

"Should I talk to him?" she asked as she inclined her mouth near his ear and gave his arm a light touch, playing at flirtation. Steve sighed, smiling at her even as he felt like screaming. She was lovely and kind and exactly the kind of girl men fall over themselves for, but she wasn't who he wanted. He was grateful for her friendship and her understanding, but he was consumed by the dull ache that came with disappointing the person who mattered most.

"I don't think that would be the best idea," he murmured back before glancing back at Bucky, who was still resolutely placing his attention anywhere else. 

"Maybe it would help if he heard it from me. He could see what my intentions are," she said as she sipped from her drink, leaving behind the imprint of her lips on the glass. Peggy leaned delicately over the bar and watched as Bucky retrieved a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it, extinguishing the match in his nearly-empty drink. Steve hummed and followed her gaze. 

"Give him some time to process it," he responded, looking away quickly as Bucky met his gaze, blowing a thin cloud of smoke into the air. Bucky didn't look away, simply stared him down defiantly, his eyes flicking down to where Peggy's hand rested on Steve's arm. There was something in his expression that twisted Steve's guts and brought a flush to his cheeks. He looked back at Peggy with a bashful smile; her expression was inscrutable. 

"I don't know what it is," she mused, meeting Steve's eyes with an expression that bordered on amused, "but there's something about him." 

Steve didn't know what it was either. He wasn't even sure that he and Peggy were talking about the same thing, but he agreed nonetheless. There was something about him. Something that pulled Steve in, a gravitational pull that he couldn't fight against, even if he wanted to. 

"Yeah," he said simply, downing the rest of his drink. 

"He hates me," she said simply. It wasn’t an emotional statement, but rather one of the blunt proclamations of fact that she was prone to. Peggy didn’t sound particularly concerned about whether or not Bucky hated her and Steve imagined that came right along with the thick skin that had gotten her this far. She straightened her dress, motioned to the bartender for another drink.

"He doesn't," Steve argued, lowering his voice as Gabe leaned across the bar next to him, ordered another beer, "He doesn't trust people easily. Especially not when I'm involved." 

"All the same. It doesn't change anything," she murmured, giving Gabe a smile as he silently toasted her with his overflowing mug, "I want to make sure you know that. The offer stands." 

Steve smiled, brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, allowed his fingers to linger. He could feel Bucky's eyes on his back, but he could also feel the gaze of the other men. It was all about selling the act. 

"Thank you, Peg. I mean it," he said quietly. She smiled for a moment before her eyes flicked away from his, looking over his shoulder with apprehension. 

Steve could feel him approaching before he turned to see Bucky coming up behind him, his coat thrown over his shoulder. Steve met him with a calm smile, trying to restrain his discomfort. This plan made sense, but it didn't make it any easier to flirt with Peggy with Bucky right there. Logic didn't negate the hurt Bucky was surely feeling. 

"Sergeant Barnes," Peggy greeted him with a tilt of her head and a raised glass, "Pleasure to see you as always." 

The smile that crossed Bucky's face was something terrible, a bastardization of the easy grin Steve loved so much, a bizarre twisting of his face that didn't reach his eyes. Yet it wasn't merely anger, not even just jealousy. There was a darkness in his eyes, a simmering fire that made Steve feel like someone had turned up the heat in the room. 

"Agent Carter," he returned stiffly, "You look lovely." 

Steve felt like he was witnessing the exchange through a fog, trying to see everything clearly. Then Bucky was reaching across Steve, stretching to retrieve a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, and Steve's head was spinning with the smell of him. Bucky lingered a moment longer than was necessary, his face close to Steve's, and he whispered so quietly that Steve nearly missed it: "I'm yours?" 

Steve looked up with wide eyes as Bucky refilled his glass without so much as a glance to where Peggy sat uncomfortably, staring into her glass. Steve recognized the darkness in Bucky's eyes with a wave of heat. Possessiveness. He nodded. 

"And the other way around?" Bucky asked casually, lifting the whiskey to his lips and taking a drink, his mouth shining with liquor. Steve's collar felt tight.

"Completely," he affirmed. Bucky nodded as if it was nothing to him, as if he'd asked about the weather.

And then he leaned across Steve again, returning the bottle with a mischievous smile and a wink to the barmaid, and his hand brushed Steve's thigh as he murmured, "Come and prove it."

He stood straight as if he'd said nothing at all, cordially tilted his head to Peggy, and made his way to the door of the tavern, waving a goodbye to the men as he stepped out onto the street, leaving Steve staring after him, head spinning and face flushed an angry red. Peggy looked like she wanted to laugh but had the good grace to resist. 

"You want to go after him?" she asked quietly and Steve could feel the desperation on his face as his mind filled with images of how exactly Bucky would like him to prove his devotion, lay his claim over him. He nodded silently and Peggy gathered her things and stood, offered him a manicured hand. He took it without comment and allowed her to guide him from the bar to the whistles of the other men. They walked silently up the sidewalk towards the base, not needing to discuss what had just happened. Steve walked her to the guarded gate where an SSR agent greeted her by name. He kissed her on the cheek, whispered a sincere if inelegant thank you and made his way back up the road, back to the place he wanted to be. 

* * *

Bucky wasn't waiting for him. He wasn't sprawled on the bed, wasn't anxiously pacing the floor. Instead, Steve had a full minute of wondering if he had completely misunderstood his intentions before Bucky came through the door, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist. It went against every instinct in his body to resist going to him immediately, kissing him, claiming him. But they had fought and Bucky had asked for space and he was insecure and scared and hurt and Steve never wanted to be the person to assume anything of him.

He stood anxiously, his hands in his pockets and his face flushed, and watched while Bucky peeled off his shirt and then stood in his undershirt, broad and solid with defiance. 

"You waiting for an invitation?" he asked suddenly and Steve moved like he was on fire, crossed the room in a few easy steps and pulled him in close with an arm around his back, claimed his mouth with his own. Bucky was angry and annoyed and Steve felt every ounce of it in the fierce way he returned the kiss, pushed his tongue roughly into Steve's mouth, threaded his fingers into blond hair and tugged his head backwards so that he could press his lips to the delicate skin of Steve's throat. 

"Thought you were mad at me," Steve breathed as Bucky fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and pushed it back over his shoulders, pulled his undershirt off without hesitation, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to his bare shoulders. Bucky looked up, his eyes wide and dark, and pushed Steve's loose hair from his forehead. 

"It made me crazy to see you with her," he said and leaned in to kiss Steve on the mouth. God, it still made Steve's head spin when he kissed him. There wasn't a thing about it that didn't feel like it was going to set him ablaze. He kissed the same way that he loved Steve: ferociously, unapologetically. He broke away, pressed his forehead to Steve's, and looked him in the eye. 

Despite the rushed, rough way that Bucky was undressing him, Steve couldn't resist being tender with him. He gripped the sides of Bucky's face, forcing him to slow down for a moment, and felt Bucky still beneath his hands. 

It was nearly a compulsion to savor every moment, fix it in his memory, move slowly and deliberately and pay attention to the details. Bucky was close enough that there was nowhere to look but directly into his eyes and Steve did his best to memorize their exact shade, the subtle lines of darker blue that ran through them, the way his lids sloped outwards under thick lashes, resolved into fine lines that deepened when he smiled. 

"You're the only one I want, Buck," Steve swore, hating the way Bucky's face crumpled at his words as he struggled to believe them, "I'll keep telling you until you're as sure of that as I am." 

Bucky gave the slightest nod and closed his eyes as he stepped forward, pressing himself against Steve, and he pressed his lips to Steve's in a calm, chaste kiss. 

"Don't want you to tell me. Want you to show me," he whispered against Steve's lips, and Steve felt a familiar intoxication at his breath. Cigarettes and whiskey smelled like a warm summer night on a fire escape in Brooklyn and memories blossomed in his mind of a conversation reversed. Bucky leaning down to press full lips to a bony shoulder, swearing he'd never stop telling Steve how beautiful he was. 

Bucky heaved a deep sigh and Steve's memories bloomed larger still, became something tangible in his chest, a glowing light that he'd nurtured during lonely nights. His love for Bucky felt like something so real to him, something more than just a feeling; it felt like a part of him, something he would miss terribly if it were gone. It sat somewhere right near his heart, settled deep in his chest, and it pushed him in everything he did. It made him want to fight, to be better, to be more. It made him want to conquer the world just so Bucky would have a nicer place to prop up his feet at the end of the day. 

"You come home to me," Bucky muttered defiantly and Steve pulled him in tighter. 

"Always," he promised. 

"No matter where that is," Bucky prodded as he ran his hands across Steve's broad chest, "Even if home is just a tent or a hotel or a shitty old barn." 

"Anywhere," Steve affirmed and grabbed one of his wandering hands so that he could press a kiss to his palm. 

"Because I'm yours," Bucky said quietly and watched as Steve continued to kiss his hand, pressed his lips to the spot where his heart pulsed beneath the fragile skin of his wrist, "And you're mine." 

"Completely," Steve told him again. He'd tell him forever, tell him until he was blue in the face, until he tired of hearing it. He traced blue veins up Bucky's strong forearms and pulled Bucky's undershirt off in one practiced motion, his lips forging a path to the light purple bruise that seemed to permanently adorn the front of Bucky's shoulder these days, the mark of his rifle, a reminder of the violence he carried out in Steve's name. And Steve kissed it gently, trying to own the sacrifices he had made for him. 

Bucky let his head fall back, leaving Steve to kiss each sparse freckle that spotted his tanned neck, and a growl rumbled through his chest as Steve pulled him close, hip to hip. 

"I hate myself for how jealous I get," Bucky said as Steve tugged gently at his earlobe with his teeth, "Watching you touch her, flirt with her… I thought I was going to die." 

Steve hummed in agreement, doing his best to distract him with gentle kisses and wandering hands. 

"It feels like there's a monster inside of me," Bucky continued and absently ran his hands through Steve's hair, his eyes fluttering shut as Steve pushed his thigh forward at the right angle, a sublime friction between his legs, "I wanted so badly to be sitting there, everyone looking at us and knowing I was yours. This morning, when we…" 

He trailed off and Steve looked up at his sudden silence. It was only this morning. The day had stretched on and on, a blur of perfect bliss and hurt and frustration, highs and lows and feeling as close as it was possible to feel and then suddenly ripped apart.

"What?" Steve encouraged him to finish the thought. Bucky shook his head, dismissing his own thoughts like he always did. Steve cupped his cheek in his palm, "Tell me." 

"I just felt so close to you, like I belonged to you, you know? Together like that, connected - I felt like nothing could ever get between us. Seeing you with her made me feel like I imagined it." 

"You didn't," Steve quickly assured him. Bucky lowered his gaze self-consciously, his eyes darting around as he processed his thoughts, "I was there with you. I still am." 

Bucky looked up, his spine straightening beneath Steve's hand. Suddenly he was the Bucky that Steve had first fallen in love with, the boy who chased him down alleys, pounded the sidewalks of Brooklyn with easy smiles and a cocky tilt of his chin, breaking hearts without even trying.  

"Prove it," he commanded, his lips twisting into a grin, and Steve felt like he could explode with how much he loved the man standing in front of him. 

"You're trouble, Barnes," he muttered, dipping his head to catch Bucky's lips with his own, kissing him with purpose born out of Bucky's challenge. Claiming him with sure movements and an eager tongue.  

"Yeah. But I'm your trouble." Bucky said with a smile, his lips turning up against Steve's mouth, and then they were moving towards the bed, fingers easily finding belt buckles and buttons, shedding clothes with a practiced efficiency. 

Bucky groaned as Steve pulled his boxers over his hips and left his half-hard cock flushed against his hip. He looked like something out of a dream sprawled out on the bed in front of Steve, giving himself over,  _his_. Bucky propped himself up on his elbows, leaning against the old feather pillows, and Steve needed a minute to take him in. His eyes roamed over his strong legs, shorter than Steve's but twice as muscular, his incredible hips and perfect, flushed cock, and the way he sat on the bed. Open. Unafraid. His. 

"C'mon, Stevie," Bucky practically purred and Steve raised his eyes to meet him, overwhelmed as Bucky spread his legs further apart with a devilish grin and trapped his lower lip between his teeth. Steve moved deliberately up the bed, nuzzled his face into the crook of Bucky's groin, his nose brushing his hardening shaft, and he smiled to himself at the low groan that Bucky let out at the contact. 

"So impatient," he murmured, pressing infuriating kisses to his stomach, grazing his teeth lightly over a nipple, settling himself between Bucky's legs, his trousers still a barrier to what they both wanted. 

"Waited years already," Bucky returned, reaching between them to push Steve's trousers over his hips, catching the waistband of his boxers as he went, "Got a lot of time to make up for." 

"And what if I want to go slow?" Steve asked once he'd kicked the last of his clothes off the bed in a messy pile. He lifted himself onto his forearms, left Bucky raising his hips, trying to regain contact, "Take you apart bit by bit?" 

Bucky moaned impatiently and pressed his head back into the pillows. 

"Don't want slow," he argued and Steve watched his exposed throat, entranced by the way his adam's apple moved when he spoke. His head abruptly snapped forward and his expression was fierce as he looked at Steve from under his lashes, "Want you. Now." 

Steve laughed, but his amusement quickly died in his throat as he took Bucky in. He wasn't the soft, sleepy Bucky he'd made love to that morning with intertwined fingers and slow kisses and gentle movements. He was something different entirely in this light, something wild, untamed, and he was challenging Steve to match him. The fears Steve had held that morning - fears of hurting him, of crossing some sort of line, of doing something wrong - melted away as the fire in the pit of his stomach caught and exploded into a roaring blaze. 

He let his weight fall back onto Bucky, crushing their mouths together, and Bucky gasped into his mouth as their cocks brushed together between them. It never really got old, hearing Bucky gasp and groan and knowing it was all for him. 

"You want me?" Steve asked breathlessly as he shifted his hips, rolling them slowly to increase the friction between them. Bucky let out a noise like an animal, primal and deep, and he bit down on Steve's shoulder, not bothering to apologize. 

"Yes," he snarled. Steve shifted his weight again and snaked an arm underneath Bucky's back, clutching him possessively. 

"You want me like this?" Steve whispered in his ear as Bucky desperately arched his back off the bed, bending around Steve's arm. He hummed affirmatively and hooked a leg around Steve's, searching for purchase. He looked lost already, his eyelids heavy, mouth hanging open as he panted with desire. It was hard to comprehend how easily he opened himself up to Steve in these private moments, the level of trust he handed over without a second thought. It was the greatest gift he'd ever been given, more than his health, more than the gift of Bucky himself. It made everything else worth it. 

He reached a hand between Bucky's legs, brushed deliberately against his erection just to enjoy the resulting hiss, and kissed him as consolation for teasing him. He cupped Bucky's ass in his hand, slowly pushing his fingers between his cheeks, finding his destination. He ran a finger over the tight ring of muscle and Bucky let out a sigh of relief, like he didn't believe Steve would get there so quickly. 

"Buck," Steve whispered and Bucky hummed again, absently pushing himself back against Steve's hand, "Let me know if you want me to stop." 

Bucky opened his eyes, meeting Steve's with a grin, and then pulled him forward with a hand at the base of his neck. 

"I love you," he laughed before kissing him gently, "But you are such a fuckin' dope." 

Steve rolled his eyes and reached beside the bed, retrieving the glass jar of petroleum jelly from the small wooden table as Bucky pressed desperate kisses to wherever he could reach. He could barely concentrate on what he was doing when he looked at Bucky, with a rosy flush creeping across his chest and the apples of his cheeks. And then he was back, circling one slick finger around Bucky's hole, and Bucky was sinking back into the pillows and spreading his legs further with an arm across his eyes, relaxed and willing and so, so beautiful. 

Steve didn't need to ask if he was ready. One look at his body language told him that he'd been ready since the moment Steve had pulled out of him that morning. He pushed his finger past his tight muscles and Bucky groaned, deep and guttural in his chest. Steve marveled again at the snug warmth of him, the way his muscles gripped Steve’s finger, but it was an easier stretch this time. He was still stretched, open from Steve’s slow, careful work earlier that day.

He pushed a second finger in, carefully watching Bucky's face for a negative reaction, and was rewarded with a slow smile that crept across Bucky's features. 

"Good?" he asked, pressing kisses to the cleft of his chin, and Bucky nodded. 

"Love feeling you inside of me," he breathed back, his voice raspy. Steve pulled his fingers back and pushed them in deeper, hooking them, looking for the spot that had nearly made him jump off the bed earlier. Bucky arched his back off of the bed, his mouth falling open, and Steve took advantage of his distraction to scissor his fingers.

Bucky let out a yelp that caused Steve a moment of worry before it quickly bled into a breathless laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he twisted his head back into the pillow, unable to stay still as Steve moved inside of him. Steve bit back the desire to ask him if he was okay and instead focused on working Bucky open, twisting his fingers and watching Bucky squirm, remembering the best angles, the best speed. 

He was so focused on his task that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Bucky suddenly reached between them, grabbing Steve's erection with a sure grip. Steve froze, his fingers deep in Bucky's warmth, and watched with wide eyes as Bucky reached past him for the jar and spread the jelly liberally onto his length, his eyes dark. He stroked Steve quickly, giving his wrist a twist and smiling devilishly as he watched Steve’s face.

“You about ready for me, Stevie?” he asked with a gravelly rasp, and a fire spread through Steve's lower belly, consuming him. Bucky winced as Steve abruptly pulled his fingers from him and scooped an arm under his lower back, angling his hips off the bed. He pressed the swollen tip of his cock against Bucky’s ass and leaned in for a rough kiss.

Desperate, mindless with desire, Bucky was pressing his hips downwards against Steve’s cock, willing him to push inside. Steve wrapped a hand around Bucky’s thigh and pulled it up to hook around his hip before bringing his hand back and grasping Bucky’s erection, rubbing away his pre-come with a brush of his thumb. 

“Like this?” he growled and Bucky nodded, unable to form words, wrecked. He grasped absently at Steve’s back and brought his hands to a rest at his lower back, palms flat, willing him to move. 

This was so different. He was so different. Steve never stopped marveling at the many things that Bucky could be, the ways he could surprise him and challenge him. Bucky was in constant motion, pushing and pulling, begging with the rocking of his hips, the insistence of his hands, the way he caught Steve’s full lower lip between his teeth and tugged. 

  
 _Prove it_ , Bucky had challenged with a defiant tilt of his chin and lust in his eyes. He wanted Steve to claim him, to mark him as his. And god, Steve wanted to. 

The insistent rolling of his hips came to an abrupt stop as Steve pushed into him, past the impossibly tight muscle, and Steve smothered his uninhibited groan with a kiss. It was so much, so overwhelming, even more than the first time. He had no fear, no insecurities, no dark thoughts to cloud his mind.

It was only Bucky, only the tight squeeze of him around his cock, only the way Bucky ran his fingers delicately up the expanse of his back and tangled them in Steve’s hair, only the way his tongue pushed into Steve’s mouth, claiming him as definitively as Steve was claiming him. 

“Steve,” Bucky panted, his thighs gripping Steve’s hips, “Move.” 

Right. He’d nearly forgotten the point of this exercise, that simply being inside of Bucky wasn’t the sum of all things. 

He pulled his hips back and the two of them moaned in unison at the exquisite drag of it, crushing their mouths together and breathing into each other as Steve pushed back in, rolling his hips, feeling Bucky’s hard cock trapped between their stomachs. 

“You have no idea,” Steve panted as he found a rhythm, adjusting the angle and tightening his grip around Bucky’s back, gathering him into his chest. It increased the friction on Bucky’s cock as they moved and he gasped, brows furrowed. “No idea how good you…” 

Bucky grasped his face between his hands and soothed him, pressing frenzied kisses to his lips as Steve picked up his pace, pushing deeper, faster, harder. 

“You’re so huge,” Bucky breathed, his voice thick with disbelief, “Can’t believe… It’s so good, Steve, so…” 

He was babbling, his eyes fluttering shut as Steve pushed his way in, again and again, wandering farther from reality, losing himself. And then Steve shifted, shoving Bucky further up the bed and pushing into him at a new angle, and Bucky’s entire existence seemed to clamp down around him. 

“That it, Buck?” Steve gasped and Bucky nodded frantically. 

“Yeah,” he forced out as Steve hit the spot again. He tugged at Steve’s hair with each thrust and it hurt, sharp pain fighting with the pleasure that enveloped him. He didn’t mind. It was grounding him, keeping him on the earth even as he fell into the void.

It was so easy to get lost in him, so easy to let the heat and the drag and the way Bucky clung to him blot out everything else. It was easy like this to be certain. It was easy to imagine a life where he could take this sublime man by the hand and walk down the street without inviting trouble. Steve squeezed his eyes shut as he buried his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck, licking the sweat from his throat, and a future blossomed behind his eyes. A future where being together was as simple a thing as choosing each other. A future he could never have.

“Love you,” he groaned against Bucky’s throat and Bucky’s breath caught as Steve buried himself to the hilt and stopped, completely inside of him. Completely his. 

“Love _you,_ ” he breathed back, gently pushing his hands through Steve’s hair again and again, fingertips brushing feather-light across his scalp. He always knew, somehow, when Steve felt the most overwhelmed. He would show up with sweet, tender touches and a hushed voice and bring him back.

Steve caught his breath and rolled his hips again, returning to his rhythm, and under his lips he felt the moan that rumbled through Bucky’s throat, accompanying his racing pulse. Their sweat-slick bodies moved together in perfect harmony, Steve pushing up into him and Bucky pushing back, meeting him in the middle with quiet whimpers of pleasure that he couldn’t hold in even if he tried.  

Bucky murmured his name through gasping breaths and he looked up, took in the elegant curve of his lips, the flush on his cheeks, the tears that had begun to fall from the corners of his eyes and disappeared into his hair. 

He felt the panic flash across his face before he could hide it and he slowed his pace, instantly bringing up a thumb to brush the tears away. Bucky caught his hand with his own and brought it to his lips, pressed slow kisses to his palm.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve asked, but Bucky shook his head emphatically. He ran his thumb along Steve’s lower lip and smiled. He was pouring sweat - they both were - beads running down his throat and over his chest as he breathed shallow, rough breaths. 

“Never,” he swore, and Steve believed him. Something came over him then, his small smile spreading into a full grin, and he shoved at Steve’s shoulder insistently, “Roll over. I wanna…” 

Steve reluctantly pulled out of him, feeling like he’d lost a limb. He didn’t have long to mourn the lack of intimacy before Bucky had pushed him onto his back and motioned for him to scoot back against the pillows. They were damp with Bucky’s sweat and Steve enjoyed the coolness on his skin for only a moment before Bucky was straddling him, leaning forward to press a hot, open kiss to his lips, and reaching behind him to handle Steve’s throbbing erection. 

He looked so beautiful with his throat curving backwards, his broad chest shining with sweat, and he lined himself up with an intense focus. His entire face went slack as he sank down, filling himself inch by inch, and Steve barely dared to breathe. It was the most entrancing thing he’d ever seen. He waited, his hands lightly resting on Bucky’s thighs, and saw stars when Bucky rocked his hips.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, moving to grip his hips, trying to keep up. Bucky threw him a look of agreement and ran his hands over Steve’s stomach, his pupils blown as he rolled his hips over and over, finding the right angle. He would lean forward occasionally to kiss Steve through heavy breaths, panting at the friction of his own cock trapped between their stomachs. Then he would lean back, his hands on Steve’s legs, and ride him with closed eyes and his head thrown backwards, his erection flushed against his hip, rock-hard and dark with the blood that pulsed in it. In moments like that Steve had to struggle to keep up, thrusting up into him and gripping his hips as tightly as he could, feeling like he was clutching a wild animal.

Finally, feeling the warmth in his stomach building and knowing he didn’t have much longer to go, Steve reached forward and took Bucky’s leaking cock in his hand. Bucky didn’t open his eyes at the sudden contact. He was lost, furrowed brow and a small smile as he ran a hand into his own hair, pushing his sweat-soaked bangs off of his face.

Then Steve moved his hand, used Bucky’s own pre-come and sweat and a bit of his own spit to ease his motion, and began to stroke him in time with the rhythm that Bucky had set for himself. Bucky groaned at that, a low, deep, primal sound as he continued his own movement on Steve’s dick, and he opened his eyes to find Steve watching him with wide-eyed amazement.

“This is…” he trailed off, struggling to form the words. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Yeah. He knew. 

“You. You’re mine,” Bucky breathed and Steve nodded wildly before pulling Bucky in roughly with a hand on the back of his neck, pushing his tongue into his mouth and tasting the sweat on his lips, basking in his breath as he panted. Bucky broke off the kiss and pressed their damp foreheads together, his eyes intensely trained on Steve’s. Steve felt exposed and safe all at once as they locked eyes, like he was being torn open by the intensity of it, the honesty. There was nowhere to hide from Bucky, but what scared him most was how little he wanted to.

He was so close, feeling his orgasm build, an overwhelming heat pushing through his entire body, and he felt Bucky tensing as he worked his cock the way he liked, desperate to please him. 

“Unbelievable,” Bucky choked out, his gaze fierce, and he pressed his lips back to Steve’s. He came with a gruff groan and without warning, spilling between them and over Steve’s hand, his entire body going taut, and he gripped Steve’s shoulders so tightly that he was certain there would be bruises. He stopped working himself on Steve’s cock for only a moment, shuddering as he resumed his rhythm with his eyes screwed up tight and his mouth hanging open. 

“Buck—“ Steve started, but Bucky shook his head dismissively, unwilling to hear anything in the moment. He was so, so close. It pounded in his ears like the rush of the ocean in a storm.

“Bucky, I’m gonna. You should…” he said as stars burst behind his eyes and his toes curled, but Bucky met his eyes with such intensity that he forgot what he was trying to say. 

“In me,” Bucky said roughly as he rolled his hips slowly, teasing Steve towards the finish, “Want you to come in me.” 

Steve groaned as Bucky’s muscles contracted around him and he couldn't hold on anymore. He was coming inside of him, filling him, snapping his hips upwards and Bucky was meeting him, kissing him, breathing him in. He kept coming, long after he thought he would stop, his muscles contracting, waves of pleasure rushing through his body. He lay back against the damp pillows, gasping for breath, sure he was going to die. 

Coming inside him was… it was something else entirely. He could feel his own warmth on his cock, could feel it in the ease of each thrust, and he felt it most in the look on Bucky's face. He was his. He had been his since Brooklyn, since the night on the fire escape, since an awkward drunken kiss, since steamy nights skipping stones on the river and talking about nothing, since their first shitty apartment, since evenings spent watching his Ma stand over a hot stove. He'd been his since the very first day they met, when he offered Bucky a friend, a family, a life. But this was something so tangible, leaving traces of himself inside of him, and his head was spinning.

Bucky kept moving, slowly circling his hips, running his hands over Steve’s stomach, his chest, his shoulders. He smeared his own come where it had landed on Steve’s belly and reached behind himself to feel the place where they met, the juncture where Steve disappeared into him. Steve opened his eyes when he felt Bucky’s fingertips lightly on the base of his dick. Bucky looked up, a melancholy smile on his face. 

“I don’t want to move,” he murmured sadly. But Steve was coming down from his orgasm, his entire body erupting with pins and needles, and he was starting to soften inside of him. It was time.

Steve sat up, clutched him close to his chest, and carefully pulled out of him. Bucky simply whimpered and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. Sudden stillness and their cooling sweat and come brought a chill and Steve was quick to shift them both beneath the bedcovers and tangle himself in with Bucky.

Bucky placed lethargic kisses on Steve’s chest, pressing himself close to his side, his breathing slowing. 

“We’re getting good at that,” he said as he snaked an arm across Steve’s stomach. Steve laughed. 

“Think we might be naturals.” He buried his face in Bucky’s hair and breathed him in. Bucky hummed in response and took Steve’s hand in his, laced their fingers together and pulled Steve’s arm around him. 

The bedside lamp cast them in a yellow glow and the room was quiet, creaking the way that old houses do. Steve stared at the ceiling, tracing a crack in the plaster with his eyes, and focused on the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. If he really tried, if he closed his eyes and really tried, he could pretend that they were in Brooklyn, tangled up in one of their beds. He could pretend they were home. He could pretend that he would wake up the next morning and pad across their wooden floors to their tiny kitchen, boil a kettle on the stove and make Bucky a cup of cheap coffee, while away the day with slow, lazy kisses on their old sofa. 

A truck backfired on the narrow road and Bucky jerked in Steve’s arms, his slack body instinctively tensing at the sound.

“Just a truck,” Steve whispered before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Bucky hummed and hugged Steve tighter. 

It was an inelegant reminder: not Brooklyn.

In a few days they would head back out into enemy terrain, resume their difficult and dangerous work, back to sleeping in tents and sneaking kisses. He could practically smell home, taste the Brooklyn air in his mouth, and he ached for its brick buildings and familiar faces, the scent of fresh bread and the sound of Bucky’s idle fingers on the piano keys. It hurt, physically hurt. 

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky said quietly, as if he sensed Steve’s tension. 

“Home,” he answered truthfully. Bucky pushed himself up on an elbow and Steve pushed his messy brown curls back from his face. The sheets had pressed pink lines into his cheek, “Do you ever get homesick?” 

“Every day. It feels like I swallowed a rock.” Bucky said. He stroked Steve’s cheek with the backs of his fingers and Steve leaned into the touch, “It was so much worse before you got here."

Steve nodded. 

“I know we’ve got a job to do, Buck. I know. But sometimes I’d give anything to just close my eyes and wake up in our apartment, job done or not.” 

Bucky ran the pad of his thumb along the ridge of Steve’s cheekbone and smiled sadly. 

“C'mon,” he murmured, “You’d immediately try to figure out how to get back over here and finish the fight.” 

He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve laughed. Bucky was right. He had fought his way here, risked his life time and again to join this fight. He wouldn’t be able to leave until it was done, not until every HYDRA base was a smoldering heap of rubble in his wake. 

“When we do finish this,” he interrupted himself to kiss Bucky again before pulling him back down and wrapping him in his arms, “You know what I wanna do?” 

Bucky hummed inquisitively, tracing patterns on Steve’s chest with his fingertips. 

“I wanna push the beds together and fall asleep every night pressed up against you,” he felt Bucky smile against his chest, “Wanna take you to that nice restaurant we always pass and could never afford, the one with the white tablecloths and the waiters in tails. And we can walk down to the river and throw stones in the water just to watch them get pulled away. Go to Coney Island and I'll buy you an ice cream and we'll spend all day wandering around the boardwalk." 

“What if it’s winter?” 

“Buy you a drink then,” Steve countered easily. Bucky was quiet for a moment, his warm breath on Steve’s chest. 

“And then what?” 

Steve thought for a minute, running his fingers up and down Bucky’s arm.

“Then I wanna bring you home, watch you smoke out on the fire escape. Drink some bourbon and sketch you even though I know it drives you crazy. Kiss you until our lips are sore and take you back to our bedroom.” Bucky hummed again and placed a kiss on his chest, encouraging him to continue, “I wanna spend every single night taking you apart, exploring you.” 

“Every single night, huh?” Bucky muttered and Steve nodded to himself, more certain than he had ever been. It had always been Bucky. It always would be. They would figure out the rest, whatever it may be.

“'Til the end.” 


End file.
